Chapter III:
The Marriage
The Bet
There was not, properly speaking, a tavern or an inn in Thedval. But the widow Hara's house served well enough for any who wished to find a hot meal for a few coins and a good supply of wine, ale and commiserate conversation. It was the eve of winter, and the air was chill and cold when Sazo entered the house and asked for a seat by the fireplace. Hara's had never been as busy as it was now that Thedval was filled to bursting with those fleeing the wars in the south. But the cold weather and the looming threat of an early snowfall kept most of the Enthedu at home making what preparations they saw fit to make. Giretta's father Garam was seated by the fire when Sazo entered, his tattered boots resting upon the hearth and with a half-filled mug of ale in his hand.
He sat up quickly when he saw Sazo approach, but the Wiseman man waved his hand to dismiss the honor. 'Stay, friend,' Sazo smiled. 'Your comfort is my comfort; do not contort yourself for the sake of honor.'
Garam laughed. 'Have you eaten, Sazo? Your woman hasn't forgotten how to cook has she?'
'She did the night before we wed,' Sazo jested, 'if ever she knew.'
'My dear Ola,' Garam mused, thinking of his late wife, 'could make everything but lamb. Though if she could ever bring herself to bring the knife against the little creature I am sure she would have done well with it.'
'How many years has it been now, friend?' Sazo said, putting his hand on the other man's shoulder.
'Too many,' Garam grunted, taking a big sip of ale. 'She passed on Winter's Day, seven years ago now - or, I should say, seven years ago on the morrow.'
'I am sorry friend,' Sazo said, 'I will help you drown your sadness, then.' Sazo knocked on the table gently and called for two mugs of ale. 'And I'll have some of whatever it is that smells so wonderful!' he called out in addition.
Soon a young serving girl brought a platter to him from the kitchen with a generous cut of mutton and a small loaf of bread. There was enough butter melted atop the mutton that he would have no need of butter or cheese for the bread. He took the loaf in his hand and broke it, handing half to Garam and dipping the other half into the softened butter.
The two spoke for a little longer of things forgotten, of things to come, of things important and things not. When enough of the ale had filled their heads they fell to grumbling about old Teacher Abbon; Garam wondered what had become of the man.
'He will be teachings his nonsense elsewhere I am sure,' Sazo said with a grave look on his face. 'And it will be all the more difficult to give the people of Theodysus a good name. Men will know the name Enthedu, but they will not know who we truly are.'
'Perhaps, then, we will need a new name,' Garam said.
'Perhaps,' Sazo laughed, 'but who will pick it?'
'It was Hearthon the Flightfoot who chose the name Enthedu, was it not?' Garam said.
'So the legends say; the Scriptures say nothing, however, so I cannot claim certainty,' Sazo replied. 'A new name,' he mused, half to himself.
At that moment the door swung open swiftly and the wind howled through the dining room, extinguishing every candle and very nearly the fireplace as well. But almost as soon as the door had opened it slammed shut behind a very, very angry young man. 'Curse my name for wanting to have good manners!' the young man hissed when the serving girl approached him nervously. She disappeared into the kitchen and peeked out a moment later as the widow Hara herself entered the dining room carrying a heavy broom as if she were ready to kill a rat or to do battle with a thief.
'Noro!?' she said with surprise. It was not like him at all to be so put out.
'I,' Noro began, sheepishly realizing that he had frightened everyone in the house. 'I am sorry, I forgot myself for a moment.'
'I hope your remember yourself now, Noro,' she said scoldingly, 'and I hope you remember me, and whose house you have entered, and whose door you have slammed.'
'I am sorry,' he said, his head hanging low. He seemed to be on the edge of weeping.
Sazo rose from his seat and approached the scene cautiously. 'Noro,' he said, gently, 'we have a seat over here, by the fire. Come, sit and speak with us, or at least just share an ale. Hara,' Sazo said, his eyebrows pleading for her mercies for the sake of the troubled young man. 'could you bring him something hot to eat. We will relight the candles for you, and tend the fire. Everything will be sorted out.' He nudged Noro gently in the direction of the fireplace and the two men walked over and joined Garam, who was just beginning to realize who it was that stormed into the dining room in that manner.
'Bandages and salves can mend a wound, but ale mends the battered heart,' Garam said, quoting an old saying.
Soon Noro was warmed and fed, leaning back in a chair finishing off a mug of ale.
'What is troubling you this Winter's Eve, young Noro?' Garam asked, his eyes filled with compassion.
'I had been courting a young woman,' he began, but Garam interrupted.
'Meidi, yes, of course, so my Giretta has told me,' he said with interest.
'Well, her father decided that she had waited too long on marriage and he betrothed her to Furinn, the carpenter's son,' Noro explained.
'You are jesting, surely!?' Sazo said with amazement. The parents in Thedval were always involved in the unions of their children - very involved by most standards. But nonetheless it was generally expected that a couple that was already in love should not be separated for the sake of the parents. 'I wonder what barter they must have struck!' Sazo said indignantly. 'This is not ordinary at all. I am sorry, Noro - it is not customary.'
'No, it is not!' Garam bellowed from beneath his mug. Sazo could not recall how many mugs Garam had drunk so far. 'Unless the children are overly stubborn, the parents ought to do no more than arrange the festivities for the wedding.'
'So says the man who sold his daughter to Abbon's pupil for a month's labor!' Sazo said, the ale clouding his discretion.
Garam grunted in frustration but soon seemed to forget the insult, turning his attention to the ale.
Noro took a drink from his own mug and then said, 'I guess if this is the King's will, we must accept it.'
'Is it also the King's will that Thaeton rule Alwan through his puppets the elves?' Garam asked. 'Is it also his will that children should die in wars, and their mothers starve in the wake of battle? Is it his desire that horror should fill every land to the brim? No, the Eternal King is good, Noro. He wants what is best for you - do not forget that. What manner of King would he be if he did not want the happiness and health of his people? Pelas is better than that at least! The King, therefore, must be all the more deeply concerned over these matters.'
In truth Garam himself had been feeling a bit slighted by fate. It was not, after all, for Noro's sorrows that he had come to Hara's to wash down his sadness in ale. His daughter was getting older, and Nihls was all but a man - he was a man, according to the customs of the Enthedu. He had cared for himself well ever since his parents died, and he would undoubtedly be expecting to receive Giretta as his bride by Springtime at the very latest. Of course, Nihls had not said anything that would indicate his impatience, but he was a man after all. Garam knew well enough what that meant.
The conversation languished for a few minutes as each man sipped at his ale. By this time Sazo could not quite remember how many drinks he had imbibed himself. It was a day for sorrows, he thought, asking the serving girl for yet another.
Garam suggested a game, and the three of them fell to playing Sword and Steed, a game that had been brought to Thedval by some of the refugees. It was traditional to wager something on the game, and at first Noro and Sazo wagered pocket fluff against a broken button. Noro won, and then he wagered the button and fluff alike against the thorn in Garam's boot, winning the whole lot at once. His success seemed to trouble the older men, who had always believed that they knew a thing or two about combat. As Enthedu, of course, they refused to take pa
rt in warfare, but they were both fond of speculations about this or that ancient battle or this or that stratagem.
Convinced that Noro was only lucky they insisted upon another round of games, this time Sazo wagering a copper coin against Noro's newly won treasures.
Sword and Steed was a perfect game for such gambles. Winning was as much a matter of luck as it was of cunning. There were several kinds of pieces on a marked board; horsemen, knights and peasants. There was also a set of three six-sided dice, each side marked with a different number of scratches. The sixth side was marked with crosshatch, and whether it was a good thing to roll depended upon the rules the players chose to set. Any number could capture a peasant, but only a cross or a five could take a horseman. Anything higher than three could capture a soldier. A peasant, if he rolled a five or better, could just as easily capture a horseman, but the horseman rolled all three dice at once, and had as many chances to capture the soldiers and peasants.
Sazo played brilliantly, but in the end he lost three horsemen in a row to Noro's peasants. Garam played like a drunk, and lost everything in short order. He began wagering with coins also, after he saw Sazo open his own purse. They were only betting copper coins, he reasoned.
After losing a few more games, Sazo decided that it was about time he went home. 'I hope you will find tomorrow a brighter day, child,' he told Noro as he departed. He put a few gold coins on the counter where Hara would find them and then left, stumbling a bit as he descended the front steps.
Garam waved a hand at the board and Noro reset the pieces. This time they both wagered money, Garam wagering his own gold against the coins Noro had won both from himself and from Sazo. Every game they played thereafter seemed to come down in the end to that one final toss of the dice. Garam won a few games, but most of them went, by pure chance alone it seemed, to Noro. Soon Garam stared with drunken eyes into an empty purse.
Noro eyed the old man with a satisfied grin while fingering his own purse, which now held more gold and silver than ever he had owned.
'I'll gamble with you, Noro,' Garam said with a laugh. 'Since you have no woman, and since I have one who doesn't seem to want the man she's meant to have, let's have a last game for it - If I win I get the purse and gold. If you win, you will have Giretta's hand.'
Noro laughed for a moment before he realized that the older man was not jesting. Garam seemed too drunk to even realize what he had just said. Noro, however, was very nearly as drunk, and he set the board and cast the first die, moving his horsemen forward boldly. Garam played a good game, but Noro's hand moved as if it were inspired, both when it moved the pieces and when it cast the die.
Garam's last piece lifted away from the board, and the old man sat for a long time in silence, not seeming to be quite aware of what had just happened.
Noro gulped down the last of his ale and walked to the counter, spilling gold coins on the table without a thought to their value or their number. He took the rest and lumbered out the door, nodding to Garam as he left.
Strange Odors
Giretta hid herself in a closet as the pounding upon the front door continued. It was well after dark, and her father had a key to the door. Even if he had lost it, something her careful father was very unlikely to do, he would not need to pound so heavily.
When the pounding didn't stop she made her way to her father's room to peek through the window at whoever was knocking. If he meant to rob them, he would have broken into the house already, she thought.
There had been several such crimes committed in Thedval since the refugees from the south had begun to arrive. She moved aside the curtain and looked out into the darkening night sky. To her amazement she saw Noro standing at the door, his chest heaving and his hand preparing for another round of strikes.
She went to the door and called, 'Noro, it is me, Giretta. I am going to open the door!' She did not want him to knock on her head when she opened it unexpectedly. The door opened and Noro entered, shivering from the cold and nursing a battered right hand. 'By the Blessed ones, woman,' he muttered. 'Why didn't you open the door?'
'Why didn't you give up when no one answered?' she replied angrily. As soon as she looked in his eyes, however, her mood calmed and her anger and fear vanished. There was something in his eyes that she had never seen before when he looked at her. His eyes were red and his hair was tussled, but he looked at her like a hungry wolf. Her heart leaped and she backed away from him nervously.
'Giretta,' he said, reaching his hand toward her.
She stopped backing away and slowly leaned closer, until his hand reached her brow.
He brushed her hair from her eyes and looked at her with what looked like awe upon his face. Her whole body seemed to grow light and heavy at once, and she thought she would turn somersaults in the air if she did not hold firmly to the table beside her. She began to back away again, but Noro swooped closer, and trapped her between his arms and the table. 'Giretta,' he said coolly, 'do not be afraid. It is me, Noro. You are mine now.'
There was so much hidden in his voice when he spoke that she could not tell whether he was jesting, commanding or merely accepting. She went to push him away, but her strength failed as soon as her hand touched his chest.
There was a sweet odor on his breath that she did not recognize. She would have asked about it had she been able to think of anything other than his staring eyes and his slowly approaching arms. Her little space was growing smaller every moment and it seemed like the more she struggled the tighter his hold on her became.
'Noro,' she said, pulling his hair to make him look at her eyes, 'what are you doing? Are you not to marry Meidi? Are you trying to torment me?'
'I care not for Meidi,' Noro said, and it was perfectly true at the moment, so there was no hesitation or doubt in his voice. 'You are the one that I want,' and that, also, was true - at that moment.
She pushed hard against him, forcing his arms from the table, but she could not bring herself to truly resist him. He put his hand in her hair and stroked her brown locks gently. For a moment she just stood still, enjoying the feel of his strong hands upon her head. But suddenly, with both horror and delight mixed up within her, she realized that he was taking her hair out of its braid.
She put up her hands to stop him but her fingers seemed to lose all strength when they met his. With horror and excitement she discovered that her own fingers were not hindering, but rather helping him. She moved her hands aside and her long brown hair fell down upon her shoulders like a waterfall.
News Comes Too Late
The morning sun hit Noro like a horse's hoof in the jaw. He was in a strange bed with a dreadful headache, and every muscle in his body seemed to ache. His right arm felt as though it was crushed beneath a boulder. Before he could think on this any further, however, he was startled by a loud pounding on the door. He rose, sliding his arm out from underneath... a woman? He shook his head and looked around in terror - he could not recognize anything. Finally he opened the door and was met by Ilder, who was just as surprised to see him as he was to see the hunter.
'Noro?' he said, as if his eyes were deceiving him. 'What are you doing here?' he asked, looking into the house as if he thought he had gone to the wrong side of Thedval my mistake. 'Where is Garam, I need to speak with him.'
Something stirred behind him and he turned to look. It was Giretta, rising from the bed with an uncertain expression on her face. Her hair hung loose upon her shoulders.
Knowing that Ilder could see better than any other man in Thedval, there was no doubt that he had seen her. Garam was not at home; perhaps he had stayed at Hara's to recover from his drunkenness, or perhaps he had not been able to find his way home for all the ale in his belly. For a moment the sickening thought entered Noro's mind that perhaps the old man had tumbled down the cliffs that stood not far from his home.
'What is going on here, Noro?' Ilder asked, his face grim and cold. 'You know the teachings of the Blest Ones as well as an
y; you are Sazo's pupil after all! You know that these things oughtn't be done until the vows are taken, and until permission is given.'
'I,' Noro began, closing his eyes as he thought, trying to remember how he had ended up where he now stood. 'Garam gave me his permission, and we took the vows,' he added this hesitantly. They had not taken any vows, and the mention of them seemed to drive all the color from Giretta's face. If it would not draw more attention to herself she would have fled from the room that very instant. But under Ilder's gaze she could do nothing but endure the humiliation.
'Is that true?' Ilder asked. 'I thought that-' Ilder paused, looking at Giretta concernedly. 'I thought,' he whispered, 'that you were to wed Meidi.'
'Meidi is to marry Furinn,' Noro hissed, not hiding his anger at all.
Giretta's eyes filled with water and her face grew whiter than even before.
'She has turned Furinn down,' Ilder said coldly. 'When did you hear of their betrothal?'
'Yesterday morning,' Noro answered weakly.
'Then you ought to have waited until this morning before wallowing in the filth of self-pity,' Ilder looked back and forth between the two youths, his face melting when he looked at Giretta and hardening to dwarf-steel when he looked again at Noro. 'Well,' he finished resignedly, 'you have taken the vows after all. I will leave you to your bride, then.'
Ilder nodded and stepped away from the door, heading back toward Thedval along the northern path. Noro cursed within himself when he realized that claiming to have taken the vows would be seen very much in the same light as actually taking the vows, especially to a people who did not believe in lying. 'What was I to do? Shame her and myself with one breath, speaking the truth for the sake of evil?' he asked himself.
By the time he returned to the room Giretta was gone from the bed, and he could hear her rifling through her drawers in another room. He walked toward the door and heard the sound of weeping. In that moment he felt such a disgust for her that he was almost driven to smash the door down. He could not conceive how this could have happened. 'Garam certainly seemed eager to sell away his daughter,' he thought to himself. 'And no wonder, with her weeping like this.' He would have chosen just about any other maiden in Thedval over her. He had been poisoned and betrayed, and now Meidi was no longer betrothed to Furinn. She was his again, but he was not hers. Not unless he denied ever having anything to do with Giretta. She was a woman, and her jealousy was known throughout the valley. If it came to the council of the Wisemen she would not dare contradict him if he said that nothing had happened. It would not be pleasant, but it could be managed.
At that moment he darted from the house in a full run. He had just told Ilder that he had taken the vows of marriage. He did not know what he would do when he found the hunter, but he knew that he would have to find some way to fix what had been ruined.
His bare feet ached as they tread upon the cold, hard earth. It was Winter's Day, and the whole land seemed to have taken it upon itself to make the day felt for what it marked. There were flurries in the sky and a strong wind coming down from the Frozen North.
It did not take him long to find the hunter. Ilder was just ahead on the road near the place where the road followed along the Western Cliffs. He charged forward, thinking desperately about what to say and what to do. His mind was blank, and his tongue froze for its uncertainty.
Ilder turned just in time to see Noro slam into him, toppling him over the edge of the cliff toward the rocks below. He slid down the cliff some twenty feet, landing on a flat jut of stony earth. 'Noro!' he shouted with confusion.
Noro's face appeared from above for a moment, and then, shaking his head in disbelief, he backed away nervously.
Raylilia
Nihls was not particularly bold when it came to courting. He had never done any of what men called 'staking,' which was acting like a buffoon as far as he could tell. Noro made an effort to hang his arms on Meidi every chance he got.
In Thedval it was not acceptable to interrupt a courtship. Such things, the Blest Ones had written, led to duels and controversies, and should be avoided. Amarin staked his tent over Ebbe, as the expression went, by fiddling with her hair at every opportunity. That was very nearly crossing the line in most people's eyes. But Amarin meant no harm by it. The fact that Ebbe did not call the Wisemen to put an end to it at once was as full an acceptance of his interests as if they were betrothed already. A Thedval maiden was not permitted to lower her hair until she was wed, and Amarin's playfulness made it clear that he had his mind set on Ebbe.
He refused to make a spectacle of Giretta in this way, both because she would not have wanted it, and also because he did not want to lay any pressure upon her. Being surrounded by such displays, however, made it hard for him to be confident in her affections. Her father and his had made a deal, but that meant very little to him. He was constantly afraid that she secretly resented it. While she never said anything to that effect he still got the sense that she was not happy with her lot. She was madly jealous of Meidi, and he could do nothing to persuade her that he was not interested in Meidi.
Giretta refused to believe this, and mocked him every time he suggested it. 'Are you telling me that you would not be happy if she married you?'
'I am sure that, by the King, I could be happy married to anyone,' Nihls would answer. 'But if it is all the same I would not choose her.'
Giretta was fiercely of the opinion that the Eternal King was, essentially, some sort of divine match maker, and if one prayed enough, sang enough hymns, and gave to the poor, they would be led to just the right person.
It did not make her happy when Nihls asked, 'What if a man marries a woman he oughtn't. If he oughtn't, then she oughtn't, and that makes four who are married wrongly - and those who missed out on their ordained will likely marry another, repeating the cycle so that, though the Eternal King ordains every couple, no match of his choosing ever takes place.'
When he said things like this she would turn red and shout, 'Go marry Meidi, then, if it is all the same to you!'
Today Nihls meant to bring her some flowers. The Raylilia that grew near her house were especially precious to her, as they adorned her mother's grave, and had ever grown along the path to her house. He made his way southward along the road, stopping now and again to pick up the bright white and blue Raylilia. Winter would claim them soon enough; this might be the last bundle that could be found until late Spring. But as he veered off the path toward the cliffside he saw Ilder struggling at the edge, calling out for Noro.
He dropped the flowers at once and rushed forward. He thought that he heard a curse from above him, but he was focusing all his attention on the hunter.
'Ilder!' he cried out, reaching for the man's hand.
Ilder reached, fear filling his eyes as he struggled. Their fingers met and Nihls slipped, pushing Ilder further down. The hunter held onto a rock for a moment, but his finger slipped and he fell.
Questions and Dreams
It took a fair amount of tearful arguments, and in the end support from Noro to convince the Wisemen that the whole thing had been an accident. Nihls appreciated the fact that Noro took up his defense, but something struck him as strange about the whole incident.
Ilder was no fool, and the snow was not falling so hard that Nihls could believe the hunter had taken a wrong path. The way he had screamed 'Noro' sounded, to Nihls, more like he was shocked by the other man, and not calling for help. From where he hung he could not have known that Noro was nearby unless he had seen the man before his fall.
The whole tragedy, however, made it impossible to conceal the fact that Noro had taken down Giretta's hair, and, according to Noro, they had first taken the vows. Giretta supported Noro's tale, but there was a distance in her eyes that Nihls had not seen before. He had always feared that she loved Noro - he had known it, truth be told. But he had always thought that Noro would marry Meidi, and so he was quite taken aback by this sudden
turn of events. He knew he was not Giretta's first choice for a husband, and he never expected her to feel differently. But he had thought that when Noro was lost to her, she would at the very least accept him. He was more than willing to simply be a comfort to her if that were possible. But now that she had what she had long desired, there was no place either for him or for his comfort.
When at last the Wisemen left him alone, and after Giretta and Noro left, accompanied by a sober, but silently furious Garam, Nihls wept. Giretta looked back at him one more time, and for the first time since they had met there was something like true longing in her eyes. They both realized in that moment that all their childhood expectations had calculated amiss. As she trailed after Noro he felt a longing for her like he had never felt before.
'We are not meant for happiness,' he reminded himself, thinking back upon his old Teacher. He knew what Abbon would say to him, 'The Giretta that you held before you as though she would be your wife is not the Giretta who you see and hear - she is not the real Giretta. To think of her as such is to let the Dragon blind you. Giretta is married to Noro now. And that is that. Your expectation was in error, but you have not lost anything, for no man can possess the future, and so no man can claim that he has been robbed when things don't work out as planned. Accept her for what she is, not for what you wished her to be. Only then can you love her honestly - even if it is loving her by letting her go.'
Every night before he fell under the power of Old Man Sleep, Nihls repeated to himself the words of Abbon, and he shivered every time he spoke them: 'Until each and every one of you faces the Dragon, he lives.' He would then pass into dark and confusing dreams, few of which he remembered upon waking. But always he saw the faces of his friends, Noro, Giretta, Meidi and the others. They were each more beautiful than they were in waking, but their eyes were the eyes of a serpent, cold and filled with treachery. He fled from them, sometimes simply into wakefulness, and sometimes through dreamlands filled with peril. But before waking he would hear them cry out to him, saying, 'Save me! Nihls! Help me!'